But at least he’d go out doing something that would have made his brother proud.
It might make Rosalie think he was something more than a total asshole.
And it’d make Janna think she was fucking a man who might be slightly worthy of her.
“I’ll be careful,” Beck said.
“That’s something, but it doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. Now act surprised. Because Sanderson is gonna be pulled back in to go over his alibi and they’re gonna go at him hard. If you hadn’t heard about this, they’re keepin’ it on the downlow. The way my colleagues are gonna take this, those men are gonna feel the heat, likely bitch about it, but my brothers might spread that love and go through the club formerly known as Bounty. Unless you find yourself in an interrogation room with nothin’ but cops around you, you don’t know dick. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Lucas sighed then asked, “You got anything on the club?”
“Web’s acting really cagey. Give me a few days. I’ll find out why.”
“Right.”
“That’s it.”
“Right.”
“Later, Lucas.”
“Later, Beck.”
He hung up.
Went to his texts.
Saw he got one from Janna.
Want me to start dinner?
He felt warm hit his chest he should not feel.
OMW, he texted back.
Then he fired up his bike and headed to Janna’s.
He’d pulled back since that night she’d had her bad dream. He did this rethinking tangling her up in all this shit.
Her response was to dig in.
With this new shit with Digger, he should set her loose altogether.
Even thinking those thoughts, he walked in her back door instead of riding right by and never going back.
She was at the stove, but she turned instantly to him.
Her tender brown eyes melted and she smiled.
Yeah, that was why he’d walked in the door.
A man paid attention, saw that melt, he’d walk through an inferno to get that look.
“Hey. I made guac to tide you over. Dig in. We’re having enchiladas. They’re not ready to go in yet and they need to bake awhile,” she greeted.
He looked down at the counter and saw a huge-ass bowl of guac next to a huge-ass bag of corn chips.
She took care of him.
Loved feeding him.
Loved him walking through her back door.
“Can I start the night with a kiss?”’
Fuck.
What was wrong with him?
Those pretty eyes in her pretty face melted more, and she moved to him.
That was what was wrong with him.
He pulled her into his arms, bent his head and took her mouth, going gentle and slow.
She pressed against him and coaxed out harder and deeper.
She was losing the shy.
Digging in.
And Beck was weak, so he was letting her.
He lifted his head.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” he whispered back.
“Want some guac, honey?”
So fucking weak.
“Yeah, baby.”
She smiled, big and bright, and pretty turned beautiful when it filled with happy.
He gave her that.
He had no idea how.
But he gave it to her.
And he found giving it to her was like an addiction.
Near impossible to kick.
Totally weak.
He bent his head and touched his mouth to hers before he let her go and gave her what she wanted.
He swung off his jacket. Threw it over the back of a chair at her kitchen table. Went to the bag of chips, tore them open.
And dug into her guac.
After they ate, then fucked, he spent the night.
Totally fucking weak.
She had another nightmare.
He didn’t think about being weak about that.
He just didn’t like it.
And he lay with her, stroking her back, murmuring shit he didn’t pay attention to but whatever it was, it relaxed her and made her go back to sleep.
He did this thinking he had a lot on his plate. None of it good. And at the end of it, if he succeeded, he’d be incarcerated for a while.
He should cut her loose.
But now . . .
Now, he thought, not before she told him about her dreams.
He’d help her through that.
At least give her something worth something.
And after he did that he’d set her free.
Superwoman
Rush
Earlier that night . . .
Rush didn’t chance hitting the buttons to bang the gongs at Essence’s house when he pulled up that evening to pick up Rebel.
But he’d only taken a few steps along the stones at the side of the house when he heard the sound of an opening window.
He stopped, looked to the house and saw Essence hanging out, a garland of flowers wrapped around her forehead.
“Peace, brother!” she called.
“Hey, Essence,” he called back. “Here to pick up Rebel.”
“Do not have her home for bedtime!” she yelled, stuck her hand out the window, gave him a peace sign, then ducked back in and shut it.
He didn’t fight his grin or the shake of his head as he moved down the path and through the bush to Rebel’s house.
The greenery brushed his hair again as he knocked on her door.
He not only stopped feeling it, he lost the knowledge it or anything else existed when she opened the door.
Hair down and stylishly messy. Makeup heavy. Body barely covered in a tiny black silk dress edged with lace at the top, but also slashes of it under her tits hinting at skin, the dress hanging on her but the brevity of it, including the high hem, meant it didn’t need to be skintight.
At her neck, a tangle of delicate chains with equally delicate pendants. She had so much hair, he couldn’t see if she even wore earrings. But on her feet were square-toed, black, girl motorcycle boots with high, chunky heels, their kickassedness playing off the sexy, ultra-feminine flimsiness of the barely-there slip dress.
Fuck, he was not going to be able to control his hard-on and she hadn’t even said hello to him.
“It didn’t occur to me you might have the bike.”
She was speaking and it took him a second considering he was concentrating on controlling his cock to process her words.
“I can put leggings on or something,” she continued.
He’d make a deal with the devil just to make sure that didn’t happen.
Fortunately, he’d thought ahead and didn’t have to.
“I brought my truck.”
She took in his face, nodded, didn’t invite him in, but turned away from the door and disappeared in the shadows.
He walked in anyway.
She had a very small foyer painted a dark and rustic yellow, which had a tall, freestanding coatrack that was covered in hats, and a short, heavily-carved dark wood bench that now had a chunky gray cardigan on it, a little black purse, and small black leather tote.
Rebel grabbed the cardigan and tugged it on.
It was long, went down to her knees, which he was not a big fan of considering her skirt just covered her pubis and he was a biker. He seriously got off on her show of skin.
Especially the way she showed it.
There was lots of it.
But it was all class.
The sweater immediately dipped off her shoulder, opening up to expose the dress anyway, so he had nothing to complain about.
“This your shit?” he asked, going to the tote and grabbing the handles while she dropped the long, slim strap of her purse on her shoulder.
“Yup,” she muttered.
“You ready, baby?”
Her eyes came to him. He processed the red lipstick he hadn’t quite noticed due to the dress, also how much he liked it, and she nodded before ducking her head and digging in her miniscule purse.
She came out with a key.
He preceded her out of the house.
She followed, shut the door, locked it, bent to scratch a fat ginger cat that was rubbing around her ankles before she straightened, and her gaze came back to him.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He reached out for her hand and no words were spoken as he guided her through the hippie-fairy jungle land to the front of the house.
They were in his truck and on their way when she noted, “If you go down the alley, there are two openings in the gate behind Essence’s property. One leads to Essence’s crib. The other to a space behind my house. It isn’t large, your truck won’t fit with my car, but if you’re on your bike, that’ll fit. You can avoid the trek by pulling in back there. And I don’t think Essence would mind if you parked behind her place if you have your truck. Her space is larger and the path between houses is shorter, and you don’t have to have Jane Goodall’s mad skills to make it through.”
He would have laughed at her last comment or felt the goodness she was making note he’d be back to her place in the future if all that hadn’t been recited to him like she was reading it from a pamphlet.
“Thanks, babe,” he replied.
“No problem,” she muttered.
It was that said in the same tone that made him turn his head to look at her.
When he did, he saw her head was turned to stare out the side window.
He looked back at the road. “Today go okay?”
“Sure,” she said, he knew, to the window.
Time to start a conversation. Draw her out.
“I talked to my dad. While I cook, we’ll chat about his thoughts about getting you out of the porn business.”
“Right.”
He drove.
And in the ensuing silence, he felt the mood in the car.
It was so damp and low an alligator could glide by and he wouldn’t be surprised.
“Everything cool?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said again.